Mojave Adventures
by The Norveyan
Summary: Just a few one-shots set in Fallout: New Vegas. I'll probably add stories time to time.
1. Chapter 1

_Just a bunch of one-shots set in Fallout: New Vegas_

"No, now get that crap out of my face!"

"Aw come on, we you need the protein. Besides, it's not that bad. Trust me."

"You shot the damn thing, you eat that damn meat. If you need to cook it you can borrow my lighter."

"Come on Boone, you of all people should be ready to eat anything when you have to." Decks wiped off his sweaty head with the grimy old ball cap he whore. His slick tanned face was wrinkled in frustration at his companion's stubbornness. His left hand was wrapped around the limp tail of a small radscorpion, which he was now shaking at Boone. "Look, we're about a day's journey from anywhere and we're all out of food. We need to keep up ur strength, I don't want to end up crawling the rest of the way to Primm."

The rugged ex-NCR sniper turned on him; his eyes obstructed by the shades that Decks would swear were surgically attached to his face.

"Listen, I once went three whole days without food while being hunted behind Legion lines, I'm pretty sure one more day without eating won't bring me to my knees, and if you bring up one more time I swear to God I will knock you cold and leave you for the ghouls!" With that, he turned and stomped away. The courier stood still for a moment, and then.

"It's manly." Boone stopped dead in his tracks and for a second said nothing. Then, he slowly rotated around to fix his veiled glare on Decks.

"I've killed ghouls with my bare hands, drank a quart of whiskey without falling, shot dozens of Legionaries, and took a knife to my gut without wincing. What have I not done that's manly?"

"You haven't eaten a radscorpion." Silence reigned for a good twenty seconds, until a fuming Boone finally marched over and grabbed the dead creature from deck's hand.

"Fine, I'll eat the damn bug, starving anyway. Let's go." Decks followed in silence while Boone set up a small fire beneath a large rock outcropping. He kept his silence while Boone gutted the creature and sliced off a chunk of flesh. Trying not to gag at the stench wafting out of the carcass, Decks sat down and watched while a grumbling Boone impaled a slab of flesh on a collapsible skewer and began roasting it.

It sizzled and popped for a few minutes, releasing an ever worse smell. When cooked sufficiently, Boone hesitantly withdrew it and sliced off a portion and stuck it on the tip of his bowie knife where it sat, Boone staring at it intensely, jaw clenched and teeth bared.

An amused look on his face, Decks quietly gestured to his travelling companion. Finally, hesitantly, the sniper stuck the morsel into his mouth and bit down on it. He pulled his knife away and chewed for a few seconds, before jumping to his feet and spitting it out.

"Damn meat tastes like shit! How the hell can anyone stand it?" Decks shrugged at his glowering friend, and then pulled out a can of pork 'n' beans which he proceeded to open with his knife.

"Dunno, sure as hell glad I never tried it. Say Boone, want some pork and beans? Uh-oh." The can was dropped as the courier scrambled to his feet and tore off as fast as he could. Diving to the ground, he felt the wind as a .308 bullet whizzed past him. With a laugh, he got up and took off again with a yelling, red-faced sniper on his heels.


	2. Chapter 2

Skidding across the dirt under the spray of bullets, Decks fired off several half-aimed shots at the red-faced Legionary ten yards to his left. One of the .357 slugs plowed a furrow through the man's left arm; he howled in pain and grasped the wound on reflex.

This gave Decks enough time to slide to a stop, take careful aim, and fire twice. One bullet struck him in the jaw while the other sliced into his chest. With a short cry, the collapsed dead. The courier wasted no time in shoving a few more bullets into the single-action revolver and turning to meet his next foe.

Rifles raised, a pair of legionaries came around the corner, firing short bursts at Decks, one of which buried itself in the Kevlar vest of his armor, knocking the wind. Another round skinned his leg, hot sharp pain spiked in his consciousness.

Ignoring the pain and moving solely on adrenaline, Deck raised his pistol and fired. The gun clicked pathetically in his hands, a misfire. Dropping to the ground under a burst of gunfire, the courier rolled behind a rock for cover. Grabbing his nine millimeter, he took a deep breath and prepared to jump out again when a particularly loud gunshot rang out. The firing from the legionaries stopped.

Moving cautiously from cover to check, Decks saw the two legionaries in a pile on the ground with holes in their heads. But he'd only heard one gunshot, and they were both dead…. Damn it.

He waited for Boone to descend, his rifle held casually in his hands. He waited for the sniper to descend the hill until he was ten feet away, a thin smile on his face.

"Just like you told you. One bullet, two kills. Now you better keep you word or-" The courier waved his hand impatiently.

"Yeah yeah, I'll buy the next round of drinks. Now let's loot the bodies and go." Walking away humiliated, Decks grumbled angrily to himself. "Never make a shooting bet with a sniper, damn arrogant bastard I am."


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in months, Decks pulled in a deep breath, and relaxed.

No one was shooting at him. No one was trying to blow him up, or stab him, or disfigure him in any way at all. It was nice.

He looked around the luxurious presidential suite that Mr. House had given him. The last week had been spent travelling back and forth from Novac, bit by bit moving all of his possessions from one house to the next. He smiled at the memory, seven hundred pounds of guns and ammunition alone had not been very easy to move.

But now it was all here. The last day or two was consumed on organizing and repairing all of his items, he had an itch for organization. Now it was finally all done, everything was stored properly and in pristine condition.

He slowly wandered the room, admiring what he had accomplished. From that rat's den in Good Springs to this. Awesome, simply awesome. He stopped by the weapons locked at the foot of his bed and popped the lid open. No squeak or rust, it opened silently and smoothly.

Four .44 revolvers lay side-by-side on the top part of the locker, each cleaned and with new parts and polished to shine. A ten millimeter submachine gun lay just beneath them, alongside his old nine millimeter handgun and a few other small arms he'd acquired.

Other lockers adorned the room, each filled with a certain type of weapon. Heavy weapons here, explosives there, rifles over there, energy weapon under that. He stopped at another locker and opened it, but this one was not filled with firearms.

A suit of pristine, humming, power armor looked him dead in the eyes. Its battle damage had been repaired and the surface cleaned thoroughly.

He left the bedroom and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Hot water was an absolute blessing, he reflected on this as it mercifully pelted his dirty and scarred body, washing over his heavily tanned skin like a delicious gift from heaven.

He immersed himself in the cascading water and the rising steam for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he stopped. He toweled himself off and wandered to the kitchen. The fridge sat there, humming a delightful sound. Popping open the door, he felt the nice blast of cold air wash over him.

Decks's hand hovered over the contents for a moment, mostly bottles of various vodka, scotch, whiskey, wine, and beer. He settled on a nice, cold, bottle of scotch and shut the door. He retrieved a glass from the heavily decorated pantry before moseying back to his bedroom.

He flopped down on the huge bed, sinking into the soft cushions. Wrapped in a soft robe, he lifted the bottle to his eyes to see the label.

"Alberlour, 1928." He shrugged; the words meant nothing to him. Popping the cork, he poured himself a glass and settled in to his bed.

Two glasses of the delightful liquor later, Decks was feeling pretty sleepy. His eyes drooped; he just managed to crawl under the covers before he fell asleep, perfectly content for the first time in months.

A loud rapping on the door sent Deck's straight up, grabbing the .357 from his bedside and leveling it at the door in one swift move.

Boone stood at the door, clad in combat gear, looking unimpressed. But then again, he _always _looked unimpressed.

"You're hammers not back." He said flatly. Decks checked his pistol, dang. Two much time with his .44 double action had affected him. Whatever, Boone wasn't going to shoot him. Probably. He set the revolver back on the bedside dresser and slid out of bed.

""Too much time with the double actions. Anyway, what's up? You want a drink?" He waved the bottle of scotch in his hand. But Boone just shook his head slowly. Decks could feel a sense of foreboding coming upon the room, and he probably wouldn't like what was about to come.

"The Legion has just launched a massive assault on the Hoovers Dam." The words sank into Deck's heart. Damnit, it had finally happened. And now of all times. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists tightly; a deep sigh escaped his clenched teeth.

"Fine, I'll get ready. Help yourself to whatever you need." He slowly headed to his suit's locker. After three minutes, the suit was on and active. Decks grabbed a .44 and a box of bullets for it. From another contained he pilfered a plasma rifle and extra batteries. A bandolier of grenades, both fragmentation and plasma, went across his armored chest. His gladius went at his side and to top it all off, he packed his ten millimeter SMG across his back.

Boone had taken a few grenades and a nine millimeter grease gun along with his .308. Decks gave him an 'all ready' look and headed off to the elevator, Boone in pursuit. As the elevator sent them down for the main lobby of the Lucky 38, Decks found himself reflecting on if he would ever have a hot shower again.


	4. Chapter 4

In spite of what he'd expected, Decks couldn't help but be surprised by the kick of the anti-material rifle in his hand. He was even more surprised though, when the deathclaw mother got back up. The bullet had punched clean through her, leaving a bloody red hole in her chest the size of a baseball.

And now she was back up, and she was charging him. So Decks did what any trained professional would do, he dropped the rifle and bolted. He practically flew up the rock face, finally scrambling over a ledge and rolling onto his back where he lay, panting. Could deathclaws climb? He hadn't seen them climb before, and they looked too big and cumbersome to make their way up to him.

On the other hand, they'd also looked too big and cumbersome to move as fast as they did. So Decks risked a cautious peek over the side of the ledge, and almost laughed with relief. She wasn't following him; instead she was pacing around below in a rage.

"Boone, any assistance you could provide would be very nice." He calmly spoke into his pip-boy's radio.

"One sec." Came the gravely reply. A second later, a trio of shots rang out. The deathclaw jerked in rage as three of .308 rounds hit her smack-dab in the back. She whipped around and charged at Boone, near the other side of the quarry. Decks wasted no time in sliding down the rock face and picking up his fifty.

Raising the big gun to his eye, he leaned back and rested the gun on his knee to stabilize it. He squinted down the sight, lined the crosshair right on the back of the retreating monster, and fired.

The recoil shoved him back into the cliff but he worked the bolt and fired again, and then again. The huge creature buckled and staggered forward, collapsing into the ground with a bone-rattling roar of pain.

Decks leaped from his perch and ran towards the deathclaw. It was face down on the ground, moaning but not moving.

"Musta shot clean through the spine." Decks observed, kicking the deathclaw's leg. No response except for another grow came from the creature. This prompted a grin from the courier, who cheerfully patted it on the haunch before looking up to see Boone, who was already on his was over there.

"Wipe that idiotic grin off your face, this is your fault and you know it."

"Aw chill off Boone, I mentioned there might be a few deathclaws here before we started this."

"You call that a few?"

"Well, depending on your point of view, this could technically classify as a few." Decks tried explain. Boone just stared into him. "Ok, fine. It's my fault, happy now?"

"No I'm not. We got attacked by an ass-load of deathclaws and I must have shot off a hundred caps worth of bullets, and I'll be damned if I'm going to pay for them, Decks." The courier gave up and slid out his .44 with a sigh.

"Look, if it'll make you any happier, you can shoot it." He pointed the butt toward Boone, who snatched it away and marched toward the moaning monster, and shot it twice in the eye. It expired without another sound, the gunshots echoing through the quarry.

They both just stood there for a while, fixated on the dead creature. Then, Boone came back and gave Decks back the pistol. The courier reloaded and holstered it, then gave the corpse a pondering look. He stepped back, framing the head with his hands. "Ya know, this would look really good mounted back at the Lucky 38. All I need is a volunteer to carry it back-hey Boone? Boone come back here!" It was useless, the sniper was stalking off and no amount of pleading was going to get him back.

Decks gave him a despairing look as he walked away, then sighed and took off after him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Cazador eggs, how on Earth did I agree to this?" Decks moaned as the antivenom worked its way through his system, violently and painfully destroying the cazador poison. Teeth clenched, he gritted them hard as another wave of pain washed over him. He pressed back hard against the rock behind him and tried not to scream.

Yeah, he'd gotten the dang eggs, the slimy little things where in a small sack at his hip. But oh boy, those buggers had sure gotten him. "I must have been drunk when I agreed to this." The Courier winced as another blast of agony swept through him.

"You where. Half a bottle of scotch if I remember right." Boone pointed out, leaning against a rock ten feet away. Decks got a perplexed look on his face.

"Really? Well, that would sure explain a lot of things, especially that NCR tattoo on my balls." Boone shot him a long, hard look. "I guess you probably didn't need to know that-

"No I didn't."

"Right, sorry. Ah, I'm done I think." Decks slowly stood up, his legs felt a little numb still, but he could tell it was a lot better Picking up his carbine; he started off back towards the Thorn. "Come on Boone, if we really flog it maybe we could get there by tomorrow afternoon. I wonder if they know any good ways to get rid of a tattoo there."

Boone followed up in silence, considering jabbing a dead cazador stinger up his young friends ass. Then again, he didn't want to spend another half hour with a yelling Decks, waiting for the antivenom to work. So with a slight shrug, he picked up his pace and went after the courier.


	6. Chapter 6

"I've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle, as I go right on merrily along." Decks sang quiety to himself as he walked down the destroyed pre-war highway. He was singing because he was in a good mood and this was the happiest song he knew, not that he knew many songs. Radio New Vegas and the Mojave Music Radio didn't have too many tunes, only about ten or so.

Night was just falling behind him, and if he turned around he could just barely make out the silhouette of Primm's iconic rollercoaster several kilometres behind him. Another hours travelling or so, and he would be in Goodsprings, a nice little place he'd heard of but never visited.

Decks couldn't help the giddy feeling he felt, that he had been feeling ever since leaving the Mojave Express office in Primm with his package.

It didn't look like anything special, probably wasn't, just poker chip made of platinum, but it was obviously important to someone seeing as on delivery Decks was getting two thousand caps. This was not only enough to let him into the strip, but to buy a small pocket radio for the lonely wastelands, a better gun and some bullets, and to get completely drunk in the strip.

Just the thoughts of his future parties brought another giddy smile to the couriers face. He wasn't even that worried about the raiders that frequented the highway, couriers were generally robbed blind but not killed so they could be used as future income again. And his package was so small, and well-hidden, no jet-junkie jackal was going to find it.

Frankly, the only thing he was worried about were deathclaws that inhabited the area north of Sloan, but this was the quickest and most direct route to New Vegas, and he'd been told he'd be pretty fine if he just stayed on the highway. Once he got to Freeside he'd be safe, he had a few good friends in the Kings.

Excitement must have empowered him, he made it to Goodsprings in just over forty five minutes. He slowed down in passing the lit up bar, wondering about stopping for the night. He kept looking back, the prospect of a beer or two and a nice bed was appealing. But then again, so was getting two thousand caps as fast as possible.

He was just passing the graveyard when he turned around. "Won't get there if I drop from exhaustion now, will I?" He yelled to himself.

"Don't worry man, I think you're going to drop anyway." The voice make Decks stop dead in his tracks. A jolt of fear washed through him as he turned around, hand drifting toward his pistol.

A pair of raiders, no, Khans. Both were tattooed and scarred, having seen more than their fair share of fights. The one on the left was wrapped in bulging muscles and cradled a ten millimetre submachine gun. His face gave nothing away except that he was ready for trouble.

The one on the left however was a lean and gangly with long spider-like limbs, a weather-worn twenty gauge clutched in his grip. "Don't even think about going for that piece." Leftie barked. "Hands on your head, don't move."

Decks backed up, hands held out pleeingly.

"Hey, comeon man, I ain't done anything to the Khans, you got the wrong guy."

"Shut up! Rigs, plug him." Leftie yelled to his other companion who began to oblige, raising his weapon. Decks didn't think, he just reacted.

He'd always been quick of hand, like the famed ranger from one of his favoured songs. His nine left his side in a split second while Rig's submachine gun was only halfway up. Two shots rang out, one burying itself in Rig's head and the other borrowing through his chest, all in just under a second.

Leftie yelled in anger and raised his shotgun to fire, Decks dropped and squeezed off three more rounds just as leftie fired. The shotgun exploded, the courier could feel the wind as the buckshot blew just over his head. No more shots followed, leftie fell to the ground with two holes in his chest and one in his gut.

Deck's scrambled to his feet and ran over to grab Rig's submachine gun. Pulling an extra clip from the body, he tucked it away and began to run back towards Goodsprings and safety. To his left he saw a man charge out of the bushes towards him, knife in hand. Without hesitation he spun around and fired a quick burst. The shape collapsed without a sound.

"Get 'im!" Behind him he heard the distinctive crack of a rifle. Something smacked into his leg, hard. He hit the ground with a grunt and tried to roll over. He heard footsteps approaching, and rough hand grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over. All he saw was an steaming, angry face followed by the site of a rapidly descending shovel blade. Then he saw nothing.

"You're got what you were after, so pay up!"

"You're crying in the rain pally." Decks came through, slowly at first, then suddenly. The first thing he noticed was his hands were tied. He struggled briefly, but the ropes were well-tied.

"Look who's waking up." Deck's head snapped up at the voice, his hands temoporarily forgotten. Khans, at least two of them. One was holding a shovel, next to a freshly dug hole... The pieces snapped together in Deck's mind and his expression changed to horror.

"Uh-oh." He managed to say, then he caught a look at the other guy.

He wasn't a Khan, that was for sure. Dressed in a nice checkered business suit with a tie, he looked like a businessman, with the bad hairstyle to top it off. Taking in the situation, Deck's became aware of the intense aching in his head and the burning pain in his left leg.

"Look, will you get it over with?" The Kham holding the shovel, the one who knocked him out, said impatiently.

The businessman held up his hand like he was making a point, then fixed Decks with a steady stare.

"Khan's might kill someone without looking them in the eye, but I ain't a fink. Dig." He shot a glance at the Khan, who resumed digging with a slight grumble. The suit pulled Deck's delivery, the chip, from his coat. "You've made your last delivery kid." Deck's eyes widened.

"Wait, what's going on? What's the big deal over some stupid chip?" The suit gave him a pitying look, but gave no response. Then, with menacingly slowness, he pulled an old pre-war .45 from inside his coat. Deck's vision focused on this for a second, his mouth half-open. "Wait, hold up! Look, I'm sorry about those guys I shot, but I had no choice! If you'd asked I'd have given you the stupid chip, just please put the gun down." He babbled.

The suit gave his gun a sad look, like he was sorry for what he was about to do, but whatever feeling of remorse he felt didn't stay his hand. He raised the gun and took careful aim at the couriers head. Deck's eyes were glued to the menacing black muzzle which seemed far bigger than it should have been.

"From where you're sitting, this must look like a eighteen-carat run of bad luck." He pulled back the hammer with an echoing _click_. "But the truth is, the game was rigged from the start." Decks tensed up and winced. He heard the gun fire and saw the muzzle flash.

And then, he saw nothing


End file.
